


Chasing Jesse James

by doctor__idiot



Series: Tumblr Prompts [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, Music, Smoking, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 12:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11989797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Jess has always been a classic rock fan. It’s the first thing Sam liked about her.





	Chasing Jesse James

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for week 15 of [SPN Hiatus Creations](http://spnhiatuscreations.tumblr.com): _classic rock songs_.
> 
> Title from Toby Keith's "Should've Been a Cowboy".

Jess has always been a classic rock fan. It’s the first thing Sam liked about her.

She’d always have the car turned to her favorite station when driving and she wouldn’t let Sam change the song even once. That’s the second thing he liked about her.

She’d be singing, swaying, tiny waist and creamy white legs, in nothing but her underwear and a ratty Creedence shirt.

Actually, that’s one of Sam’s.

The first time she saw it on him she grinned, teased, “Looks like you’re developing some good taste in music after all.”

It’s a sentence he’s heard several times in his life, usually when he was mouthing along to a Bon Jovi or a Bob Seger song. Those were the only two he and Dean could ever agree on.

He’s more of a Queen or Bowie guy himself.

Jess usually listens to Blue Öyster Cult in the kitchen. She turns it up extra loud, shooting side-smirks at Sam to rile him up. Sam doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he knows pretty much every album in his sleep because he’s heard them too many times to count.

He never tells her what it reminds him of when she blasts Metallica in the car, always pretends not to know what she’s talking about when she reminisces about the old made-up of AC/DC, and he only shrugs when she catches him humming along to Deep Purple.

He never tells her who is on his mind when he sees her shimmying her hips to some REO.

One day, he comes back to the apartment and Bob Dylan’s _Tomorrow Is a Long Time_ is playing softly from the speakers in the living room. But it’s not Jess he meets there.

Dean is reclined in the armchair, one of those cigarettes Sam hates so much dangling from his plush lips. “Your girl’s got some good tunes,” he says, easy as you please, as if he wasn’t essentially breaking-and-entering, “I know they can’t be yours ‘cause you’re a pansy and you only listen to that modern softie shit.”

Sam doesn’t know what ‘modern softie shit’ is exactly but he doesn’t ask. He stares at his brother, only blinks when Dean raises an eyebrow. “What?”

It doesn’t matter that they’re right in the middle of the apartment Sam lives in with his girlfriend. It doesn’t matter that Dean smells like smoke and dirt, his shoes caked in mud from god knows where he’s been. It doesn’t matter that Jess might walk through the front door at any minute and it doesn’t matter that Dean looks even more tired than Sam feels.

Sam hauls him out of the chair, ignoring his surprised protest of “Hey!” and fists his hand in the front of Dean’s stupid Aerosmith T-shirt. He slams their mouths together like he hasn’t done since the night he left and swore to never do again and it doesn’t matter.

Dean makes a noise, tiny breathless laugh, and opens up for Sam, making room for him in his arms and in his mouth, and Sam is falling.

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly and curls his fingers in Sam’s hair.

In the background the CD clicks to the next song.


End file.
